Fighting Oblivion
by Angelfirenze
Summary: A collection of Bobby-centered drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics...spanning from 1969, when Bobby is eight, on forward. Also archived at the amorousintent Yahoo! group. COMPLETED
1. Pieces, part I

**Fighting Oblivion**

_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never were or will be.

**Summary: **This is to cheer myself up in case John/John loses ()...Anyway, I was listening to Thursday last night and came up with this...A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics, starting when he was eight years old. It's 1969, but that's probably irrelevant.

**Rating: R **just for caution...

Pieces, part I

**_Lalalalalalala, listen to yourselves go on and on as if you spoke to someone else..._**

Her voice ripped at him, cutting him as surely as the knife she wielded in one shaky, bloodstained hand.

"Ro-bert," her singsongmaybehappyprobablynot voice called. He knew better than to not answer, but still he didn't. Peeking through the slats in his closet door, he tried his hardest not to cry. It was difficult, with the fiery nicks and slivers of broken glass caught in his fingers and the slippery redness that leaked from them. Slowly, in his head, he counted. In Spanish, the way he'd learned with Mrs. Ramos.

_Uno...Dos...Tres...Cuatro...Cinco...Seis...Siete...Ocho...Nueve...Di--_

"Robert!" she called, his mother, and this time her voice was like the serrated edge of her weapon. But still, he didn't move. Trying not ignore her, he set about prying the largest pieces from the bloodied, shredded skin of his shaking fingers. It burned, the glass. The sound of her voice on his ears. And then she was gone and he could come out.

_**Between the footsteps I hear crickets in the trees...A silent army marching with me through a swarm of bees...A needle dragged across the record, slowing down...and on Division St., the lights are dying out...**_

He found her curled up in the corner, shivering as though she'd caught a chill. Slowly, carefully, he walked past her to get to the first aid kit. She was as bloody as he. The blood from her hands ran down her arms and stained her shirt deep red. He knows how to clean and dress them now, with bandages. He was a fast learner. All his teachers said so. It was why he was in special, accelerated classes at school. They all called him Robert. But he reasoned that they only did it because they were teachers. Adults.

They didn't know him at all.

**_Fall down! Pass out! Get up again! I can't keep repeating..._**


	2. Pieces part II

**Fighting Oblivion**

_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never were or will be.

**Summary: **This is now _definitely_ to cheer myself up because John/John lost ()...Anyway, I was listening to Thursday on Tuesday night (squee) and came up with this...A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics, this is part II of the first, continuing when he is thirty-one years old. It's now 1992.

**Rating: R **just for caution...

Pieces, part II

_**This is what you see…When you look in my direction…**_

He's only been out of academy for six months and already he's been through two partners. A tiny part of him, the part that says it hurts, knows they won't be the last. Just like he knows this one is already afraid of him and he's only worked with her a week. They would stick with him—persevering, they called it—for a few weeks, but they always left. He would always creep them out, sooner or later. He tried to act _normal_, tried to think about things the way he knew they probably did. It made his head hurt, actually, the slower change of pace. Like a caffeine addict suddenly deprived of their morning espresso. Ironic, really.

His reputation preceded him, he heard.

_**The signals that we send over the air…**_

He tried really hard, he did, but sooner or later, he slipped up and tapped a pen too much or went in depth about ancient death rites for the Egyptians three thousand years ago because of the way a body was stored and the direction it lay in. No one ever saw the correlation between the two except him, and he was too impatient to fully explain, and so they left. Two of them, so far, and more on the way. Now he was on his thirdandnotthelast. He scrutinized her while trying to be _normal_ about it. Thompson had complained that the way he tilted his head during interrogations was...creepy. So he tried not to. It was very difficult.

_**This is how it feels when you don't even fit into your own skin and it's getting tighter…Every day, I'm getting smaller…**_

Now she was watching him. Impulsively, he looked away, cursing the slow blush that crept up his face. To save face—part of him screamed at everything else, asking why the hell he should care what she thought—he eyed the coffee pot behind her and immediately stalked toward it, desperate to seem…_normal._ He didn't want his new partner to run away just then, even if he knew she would later.

_**If I keep holding my breath, all of this will fade away…**_


	3. Red and White

**Fighting Oblivion**

_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never were or will be.

**Summary: **A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics; this is the third, the first two-parter now being finished, continuing when he is thirty-nine years old. It's now 2000, but pre-Alex. During another sleepless night, Bobby's mind gets to wandering...he's a glutton for punishment and, maybe, always has been.

**Rating: R **just for caution...some Dark!Bobby thoughts in this one. In fact, I should probably warn that if you shouldn't be reading or watching anything to do with sex, you shouldn't read this part. Just skip it. You won't miss anything.

Red and White

_**'Lie with me,' I said and lying's what she always did and always will...**_

It's 1:05 in the morning and I can't stop tumbling. My head is clouded and thick with thoughts of her. I can barely breathe past the memories.

"_Did you miss me, Bobby? No? Well, we're just going to have to fix that, won't we?"_

Oh God, just the memory of those nails raking through my skin, the sting of the sweat soaking into my wounds gets me hard. I want to shut it out, make it go away, but it won't. And part of me thinks that I don't want it to. I miss it. The vicioussweetalwayssharpasironspikes way her nails would rake over and through me. I need it. I need her.

"_Did you miss me, Bobby? Answer or I'll just hurt you again. And, of course, if you answer the wrong way..."_

Half the time, I lied, just to get her to...oh God, I can't take it. It's hot outside so I went to bed naked and didn't bother to get under the sheets. The dark head of my erection pokes mockingly back up at me, taunting me. So does she, of course.

_**It's the light from your sunless room…Scattered in pieces all around you…Recession of these thoughtless forms…Reciting every line as a way of life and a way of death in time…**_

Part of me wonders if it matters as I try to ignore it, try to ignore her. I try imagining my grandmother, but of course, I don't even remember her so that doesn't work. I try thinking of non-sexual things, like refrigerator doors. Only a complete pervert could get an erection thinking of a refrigerator door, right? I like to think (_read: believe_) that I'm still at least a little normal. But three seconds later, there's a magnet holding up a photograph of Nicole, naked, and the photograph multiplies, changing subtly every time. Each time she's in a new position and suddenly I groan as my hand has come out of nowhere to latch onto myself and stroke. _Shit._ I tried not to, I really did. I guess I'm just weak. And the scariest part of it all is that I find I don't mind.

_**Step inside and march in the procession of empty hearts…Love has torn us apart…It's a part of me, a part of you, in time we're falling apart together…**_


	4. Heel Over Head

**Fighting Oblivion**

_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never were or will be.

**Summary: **A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics; this is the fourth installment, again continuing when he is thirty-nine years old. It's still 2000, post-Alex, but now Bobby has just discovered his father has died…canon, I suppose. Except here it might be AU because Bobby is identifying his father's body, which was found in an apartment. I don't actually know how Bobby's father died. Bad me, I haven't seen any season other than this one and reruns over the summer. Bad, bad me!

**Rating: R **just for caution...

**A/N: **Although the lyrics, as usual, are from Thursday, the title comes from the song from Puddle of Mudd.

Heel Over Head

_**I'm writing you this letter to let you know I'm not alright...And in this city the streets are paved with hate...And you cry yourself to sleep tonight...And say "No, there aren't enough love songs in the sky..."**_

I'm staring into the closed eyes of a man I haven't seen in more than twenty years. My father, cold and still in a morgue here in my home, my home of New York City. I still remember the sound his shoes made on our linoleum floor the night he left. It was shortly after we found out my mother was sick. I was afraid of her and her screams of how I was the spawn of the Devil. I remember the word games he used to teach me. Only now have I realized what they were. Code. The ME has a strange look on her face. A funny mix of pity and exasperation. I don't want her fucking pity. I don't want anyone's pity. I'm sure the exasperation comes from the fact that I've been staring wordlessly at his body for over five minutes. I'm sure she expected me to sniff him, or start playing with his hands, or something. Like I usually do. But there is no usual in this.

Not when this is my father I looking at.

Never.

_**They say it doesn't happen that often…But it's happening right now…**_

1 for A, 2 for B, and so on.

9 12/15/22/5 25/15/21, 2/15/2/2/25

I LOVE YOU, BOBBY

He gave me a slip of paper that said that before he left. He told me to always keep it with me and, despite my base inclination, I have always done so. The thirty-two year old paper is yellowed and folded over with deep creases and worn from my hands, but I've kept it. I actually wrote back to him on it.

9 12/15/22/5 25/15/21, 4/1/4

I LOVE YOU, DAD

_**I'm writing you a second time…To let you know nothing here has changed…**_

My eyes burn as I ask the ME if I can take custody of his body so that I can arrange a funeral. I doubt anyone will come but me. It doesn't matter.

Before the ME takes his body back to the morgue, I slip our paper back into the pocket of his suit jacket. I love you, Dad. I forgive you.

_**In these city streets I hide my face…I turn away when you look at me…**_

Then I leave, to go back to work where I'm stared at and talked about and ridiculed. Then again, I'm going back to Alex. I'm going home.

_**Will you look back on this night…As the day that ruined your life…Will you look back on these city streets and say, "Oh, God, where are you?"**_


	5. Perspective

**Fighting Oblivion**

_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never were or will be.

**Summary: **A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics; this is the fifth installment, continuing when he is forty years old. It's now 2001, and all Hell has broken loose. I'm sure all of you, just like me, remember where you were...

**Archive: **Amorous Intent, of course. Anywhere else, please ask.

**Rating: R **just for caution...

Perspective

…_**Falling apart…Like the ashes of American flags…**_

He walks steadily through the chaotic street, dust and rubble swirling around him like a sandstorm in a desert. This is a desert...of shock and terror and rage and hate...and he's drowning so fast he doesn't think he'll ever be able to pull himself out again. Beside him, faintly, he feels Alex's hand in his numb, dead fingers. They're cold, like his are, but he can tell they're shaking. They've both been dying today...inside...

_**We used to be very tall buildings…and we're falling…for so long…**_

They look up, he and Alex—not Eames...not today—and she turns and buries her face in his shoulder, sobbing silently. They're jumping now, those people in that building...trying to escape the flames. He dies again, for them. He wishes he could make it better...but he can't.

_**In the shadow of the New York skyline…we grew up too fast…**_

Alex is wrapped in his arms, crying at the hurt and the death and they can barely move past the despair. The feelings and the pain he sees in Alex's face (one he knows mirrors his own) threatens to overwhelm him. He fears it might. Perhaps it's for the best, really, that he is unable to move. He would surely succumb to the hate and anger that, even now through the haze of grief, boils in his blood at those who would purposefully target civilians.

I _would make a much more sufficient target,_ he thinks angrily, thinking of his tenure in the armed forces.

He can't help but identify with the children whose mothers and fathers have been ripped away.

Husbands...wives...brothers...sisters...sons...daughters...gone.

Like this is _war._

_**War…all of the time…**_

They're running now…being pushed, really...the towers are coming down...people dying...so many...he doesn't realize it until they pass the hospital with its makeshift gurneys made of desk chairs with sheets wrapped around them. He's crying, too. His eyes sting and burn but he doesn't stop...

But he's crying and he can't stop.

_**They offer a welcome...when you are leaving...**_


	6. Fragments

**Fighting Oblivion**

_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never were or will be.

**Summary: **A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics; this is the sixth installment, continuing when he is forty-two years old. It's now 2003, and Bobby just heard some disconcerting news...for him, anyway...

**Archive: **Amorous Intent, of course. Anywhere else, please ask.

**Rating: R **just for caution...

Fragments

_**Don't forget to breathe...**_

She can't be serious. This…this is some elaborate joke Alex thought up just to rile me. There's a hidden camera somewhere and later tonight, Alex is going to laugh her ass off…okay, wait, stop thinking of Eames' ass. She's your _partner_, stupid, not a girlfriend. And she can't be one. Not ever. That's a violation of fraternization rules. We could lose our jobs. Which isn't a worry, because we're not attracted to each other. _Right?_

_**If we say these words…it'll be too late…to take them back…**_

Okay, wait. _Concentrate_, you idiot! Now she's smirking at me, clearly trying to gauge my reaction to her words. Her words. _Bobby, I've decided to be a surrogate for my sister. I'm pregnant._ You can't say what I think you're going to...

"This means you're going to have a temporary partner, Bobby, so...you know, try to be on your best behavior."

Damn it. I don't _want_ to be on my best behavior.

"Promise me you'll try not to freak them out." She gently turns my face toward hers from its position staring out the front windshield. I must be pouting or something because she traces the side of my face. Why does that feel so good?

**_When the curtain falls...and you're caught on the other side...just trying to keep up the act…_**

Alex reaches again across the car where we are, in the parking garage and leans her head on my shoulder. I can feel my heart going ahundredmillionmilesasecond now and it's not entirely bad, this lightheadedness.

"You'll be okay," she assures me. But I won't be. However, I am being a selfish prick so I smile for her and tell her I promise to try and then tell her congratulations again. Alex smirks up at me and I try not to gasp. I think I actually see tears in her eyes.

"I'll miss you, too, partner."

_**We don't have to be alone…ever again…**_


	7. Typecast

**Fighting Oblivion**

_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never were or will be.

**Summary: **A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics; this is the seventh and last installment, continuing when he is nearly forty-three years old. It's still 2004, and Bobby will do anything not to let her win again…

**Archive: **Amorous Intent, of course. Anywhere else, please ask.

**Rating: R **just for caution...

…_**Choke on her words…caught in your throat…**_

"People like us just aren't meant to have children, Bobby..."

It was just like when he had been a boy. She spent a little time with him at a time he'd rather forget and she just _presumed_ to know him. How he longed to throw those words of hers, so haughty, so certain, back in her face as surely as she'd tossed so many things at him. Her very manner in his presence, always searching for the slightest opportunity to hurt him, reminded him so forcefully that she was a hungry lioness and he the unlucky gazelle who wandered into her line of vision that it was all he could do at some moments not to turn and run. But he would never run from her. He'd never give her the satisfaction of getting to him ever again. All he had to do was find an opening. It was like chess...just like chess...

…_**How long can the wheels maintain a spin…at this velocity…**_

"Well, don't count me out yet."

He thought about it sometimes. What being a father might be like. But he didn't get his hopes up. At the moment, though, he figured he was better off than she ever had been. He had stability, of sorts. People he knew cared whether he lived or died. He knew, however, that if Nicole wanted, she'd try to steal that, too. If only to torment him. So he played the game to the best of his ability, pulling out everything he had. If only to just this once see her as rattled as she'd gotten him. She was doing her usual maneuvers of trying to unsettle him by catching him off-guard. But he was ready. She couldn't hide. Not anymore.

…**_Since I replaced the 'i' in 'live' with an 'o,' I don't remember who you are… _**

"She could never..."

"She was precocious that way, this three-year-old, wasn't she?"

"Stop talking about her."

He had her. God...he had her.

"Three years old...that's how old you were when your father first molested you..."

"I won't listen to this."

"He said that it was your fault. That you seduced him. That all little girls flirt with their daddies. And you believed this big lie. What other explanation could there be? Why else would your father do these horrible things to you...?"

Some faint, nearly deadened part of him enjoyed watching her so upset, but he killed it. He would not take satisfaction in this. That would make him no better...or, perhaps, worse.

…_**I will change back to myself…in the flame…**_

"Get out!"

"How could you not be jealous of her? You couldn't allow her to take your place."

"I did not kill—"

"And throughout this whole thing, you haven't managed one solitary tear for her."

It's that lack of compunction...of remorse...that turns his stomach more than anything else. To be so utterly inhuman so as to not mourn the loss of your own child...he hopes he never finds out what that feels like. He can't understand it and thanks God for that.

He wishes he could've helped her.

…**_Cut the jet-black from my hair before we're bathed in the dawn…of the New Year's Day…_**

He stares at her lying there, on that slab, and against his will some part of him breaks. He tried so hard, but he failed her. And here was the proof.

"Sparkling little girl."

_**THE END**_


End file.
